


southwards

by kurgaya



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Agender Character, Banter, Chocobos, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 07:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13712955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurgaya/pseuds/kurgaya
Summary: Is it a bird, is it a plane, is it - oh no, oh god, it's definitely a bird, look at the size of that thing!"You know,” Noctis begins, looking between Gladio and the charred body of the Zu. “When I said bring it down, I didn’t mean drop a thundara on your head.”





	southwards

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Joshatron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joshatron/gifts).



> Written for the FFXV Valentine's Exchange on [tumblr](https://ffxvalentines.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/FFXValentines).

Noctis coughs as they heave himself up from the dirt, their throat thick with smoke and flame. Around them, the Rock of Ravatogh crackles with residue electricity, spitting sparks and white-hot cinders. Their eyes water from the light, and their hair fizzles with static. Noctis shoves their hands through it and groans, dreading the thought of how it looks. They deserve a shower after this mess; soot and bruises cover them from head-to-toe, but at least they look a right side better than the Zu lying some feet away, colossal and charred and smote into the ground.

The sky above is a coppery pink, a swirl of dark champagne surrounded by storm clouds. Flashes of lightning brew inside the storm, but the wind and the thunder are hushed, and there isn’t a sound to be heard.

Thundara packs a punch.

“Everyone all right?” Noctis calls. They stumble past the fallen Zu, dancing around sparks as they go. The monstrous bird is by far the largest bounty they’ve hunted to date; it even puts Duscae’s Deadeye to shame.

Ignis is the first to emerge through the gloom, regarding the Zu with apprehension. It’s so _beyond dead_ that his fear it may rise again is misplaced, but Ignis’ vigilance has saved their hides many times before. So Noctis doesn’t say anything, even if they want to roll their eyes and sigh _Specs_.

“Well,” Ignis says, understating the battle with a single word. He considers his glasses with an underwhelmed expression before slotting them back onto his face, unmoved by the grime as Noctis reaches his side. He appears mostly unharmed, nothing a quick potion couldn’t fix, and it’s just as well that he styles his hair into place, Noctis thinks, as the thundara’s remnants crackle in the air.

“You think the bounty’ll be worth this?” Noctis asks, pulling a potion out of their arsenal.

Ignis yanks out the stopper and takes a sip. “I daresay it will. We have faced smaller, but more troublesome, monsters for less. The coeurls we encountered in Leide, for example.”

“Ugh.” Noctis hates fighting coeurls. Even Gladio hates it, and he’ll fight anything. Prompto almost had his arm chewed off last time they undertook a hunt, and Noctis warped themself to the verge of stasis more times than they could count. And still Prompto insists on calling the stupid self-healing cats _cute_ , which puts a smile on Noctis’ face even now.

As if beckoned, the two remaining members of their party appear from behind the head of the Zu. It’s eyes are wide and dead, and its feathers crumbles to ashes as they smoulder in flame. Prompto does his damned hardest not to shudder but fails spectacularly, lurching away from the carcass in fear. Noctis doesn’t blame him; the Zu had almost chewed his arm and everything else off too.

“Why is it so _big_?” Prompto wails, jabbing his gun at the Zu.

“Now where have I heard that one before?” Gladio drawls. He laughs, but the sound is pained. Noctis’ smile slips away as they notice Prompto’s other arm, not slung casually over Gladio’s shoulders, but wrapped _supportingly_ around his waist. Gladio’s their nominated tank and they all know it; he’s the _Shield_ for good reason and little slips past his defence. Anything that does he introduces to the pointy end of his greatsword, and nothing hobbles away from that. He seems in high spirits despite Prompto helping him along, but Gladio’s mask is just as impenetrable as his shield, so Noctis isn’t taking any chances.

“What happened?” they ask, jogging over. Ignis follows at their heels, already pulling various medicines out of the arsenal. Noctis feels their magic quiver as Ignis reaches in, but the sensation is long-since familiar to them. Their friends dip in and out of the arsenal all of the time, steadily gaining confidence at using the royal magic for their own. Where it used to startle Noctis, now the ripple of their royal magic around their friends is a comfort.

 _What happened_ , Noctis realises, is a stupid question. The answer is all around them, a lightning bolt from the sky. The air of thick with the stench of fire, and still Noctis’ hair stands on end. Thundara isn’t a spell to be used lightly, not even by Gladio, and the Zu’s burning body is evidence of that.

Gladio, of course, tries for a reassuring grin. “S’not so bad,” he says, which is certainly _not true_. It looks bad; his shield must have taken the brunt of the damage, but thin, tree-like burns cover his right arm and shoulders, the skin around them burnt an agonising red. His shirt is in tatters and blood splatters his face and neck, but the only open wound to be seen is a grotesque gash through his collar and down towards his chest.

Noctis reaches for a phoenix down.

“Used one of those,” Gladio says, staying their hand. “Relax, I got the damn bird, didn’t I?”

“And _yourself_ ,” Prompto adds, voice high with worry. “I mean - it was _cool_ \- but you almost fried yourself! You could look like the Zu right now!”

“But I didn’t so - oh fuck, Iggy no, don’t roll up your _sleeves_ -”

“Sit him down,” Ignis orders, buttoning the cuffs. He kneels down preemptively and gestures to the bolt-bitten ground before him; Prompto obeys without question, and they both ignore how Gladio swears, his expression torn between amusement and fury. _I’m fine_ , says his wince, but he dares not argue in the face of Ignis’ wrath.

“May I remove your shirt?” Ignis asks.

Gladio cracks a grin. “Usually that’s sexier -”

“Gladiolus.”

“ _Fucks_ \- yes, all right, _sheesh_ , you can take it off. You know I hate it when -”

“Even a lightning splash is dangerous,” Ignis interrupts, thrusting a potion at him. He doesn’t comment on Prompto’s muffled laughter. “Burns are not the only concern; if you’ve damaged your chest or lungs, then a hospital is our next stop. And in case it’s escaped your notice, we’re not in close vicinity to one of _those_.”

Gladio grumbles something around the rim of the potion. It sounds suspiciously like another _I’m fine_ , but if it is, he is wise enough not to utter this any louder. Rather, he sits quietly as the potion begins to work, the wound across his collar stitching itself closed with a faint green glow. He seems on the verge of saying something smart all the while, but a swift look from Ignis holds his tongue.

Noctis smiles despite themself, and so Gladio redirects his glare to them instead.

“You know,” Noctis begins, unfazed by the ire. Gladio’s a terrible patient, more of an angry dog and less of a kicked puppy when he’s hurt. He’s not fun to deal with, but seeing him hurt is even worse. “When I said _bring it down_ , I didn’t mean _drop a thundara on your head_.”

Gladio shrugs, flinging the empty potion bottle back into the arsenal. The branch-like marks spanning his shoulders tug and pull with the motion. “Didn’t see anyone else doing it.”

“For _good reason_ ,” Ignis stresses, two fingers pressed into Gladio’s neck.

“Yeah, we didn’t wanna die, thanks,” Prompto agrees, ever-cheerful. He nudges Gladio playfully, anxiously, a little too hard, and misses Gladio’s wince. “Not all of us can take hits like you can, big guy.”

 _Exactly_ , says the look on Gladio’s face, somehow smug and resigned at the same time. It’s an expression he’s taken to wearing more often in the lull after battle, his pride weakened by worry as they trek further from Insomnia and into the wild.

Noctis hates it.

“Are you feeling dizzy or short of breath? Any numbness?” Ignis asks, distracting Noctis from their rising anger: Gladio isn't supposed to get hurt, _nobody_ is supposed to. Insomnia should never have fallen; they shouldn’t be King to a people war-torn and afraid. It isn’t fair that those Noctis loves have to help carry their burden.

Gladio shakes his head. Ignis doesn’t seem convinced, judging by his sharp silence, and Gladio only takes a moment to cave. “Might’ve passed out for a few secs,” he says, pointedly not looking at anyone. “I dunno.”

“He was fine when I got there!” Prompto insists. “Well, I mean, he wasn't _fine_ but -”

Noctis casts all thoughts of Insomnia aside. Now is not the time and place to wonder how things could have been. “Hospital?” they hazard, hoping against it.

Ignis stands. He doesn’t appear worried, but then he rarely does. The day that Ignis panics will be a dark day for sure. “It may not be necessary,” he says; Noctis and Prompto both breathe a sigh of relief. “But first things first, we need to return to the base of the mountain. Then we'll see. Gladio -”

“I can walk.”

“You'll have to,” Ignis says, but his eyes are soft. “The chocobos are unable to make the climb. Noctis, Prompto - would you fetch the spoils of our hunt?”

The eggs. Noctis completely forgot about those.

“Think they'll fit in the arsenal?” Prompto asks as they both trek across the mountain-top. The nest is sequestered high into the rock-face; Noctis will have to warp the eggs down one at a time if the arsenal won’t accept them. “Actually - d’you think Gladio could fit? Then you could just - you know-”

He gestures vaguely, as though patting the air. Noctis rolls their eyes, a little insulted that a hand-wave is all their magic has been reduced to.

“I think there's a rule against putting people in the arsenal,” they advise, tapping one of the eggs. Their magic dusts over it and then takes hold, and Noctis hums with satisfaction before pulling the egg into the arsenal.

“Okay, but would he _fit_?” Prompto asks. “He’s gotta be, like, the biggest thing you’ve ever put in. Oh my god, wait, what about the _Regalia_? Can you store the Regalia?”

Noctis shuffles over to the next egg. “Dad did once.”

“ _Really?_ ”

Prompto’s cry is the highest Noctis has ever heard it, and they laugh. “Nah, I’m messing with you, Prom. I’ve no idea.”

“Wha - _Noct_!” He pouts as Noctis warps back down, all of the eggs safely stored away. His puppy-dog expression tugs at their heart. “I thought you were finally cool...”

The tips of Noctis’ ears burn. “Take that back.”

“Or what?” Prompto teases; he’s the one grinning now, practically giddy with glee. The sky has darkened to a rosé wine, matching the happy flush across his face: it almost matches Gladio’s bloodied clothes too.

“Or I’ll - I’ll _warp-strike your ass_.”

Prompto’s _oh-OH?_ isn’t quite the terrified reaction that Noctis was hoping for, but his squeak when they summon their engine blade most certainly is.

 

 

 

Four feathery heads perk up in attention as the group finally trudge to a stop at the base of the mountain. As loyal as ever, and still surprisingly so, the four chocobos squawk and bustle over, their talons skidding across the rocks and gravel. As though he is one of their own, Prompto rushes over to meet them, his happy noises rivalling their merry warbling. He crashes into the fastest of the four, almost disappearing into her sunshine-coated feathers. The white chocobo flails around them and bee-lines for Noctis, the other two hot on his heels.

“Heya boy,” Noctis greets, earning themself a face-full of chocobo feathers. Cheesecake fluffs his wings and croons, and Noctis rolls their eyes. “Yeah, yeah, missed you too. I’ll pet you later, ‘kay? Gotta get Gladio back to camp.”

They gesture a thumb over their shoulder, and Cheesecake’s sharp eyes follow the motion. Gladio’s hired - and practically adopted - chocobo seems unsettled by his lethargic approach. He plasters a smile on and strokes down her feathers, but his breaths are slow and heaving, and Noctis can see him leaning into Bella. Her head darts around, surveying the mountainside for danger. In any other situation, the similarity between chocobo and rider would be comical, but Gladio looks half-asleep where he stands.

Cheesecake’s next warble is worried. Noctis soothes him with a few soft words before stepping into the stirrup and mounting, eager to reach the campsite before dark. Their friends follow suit, Ignis by far the most graceful with his ascent. Guinevere is a chocobo so alike her rider in many ways - patient, loyal, and unafraid of asserting herself as the mother-hen. The sun-bleached chocobo that Prompto has taken to calling _Wolf_ has the same issue, just as skittish, but full of affection as Prompto. It’s a wonder they manage to coordinate themselves. Fortunately, Wolf is just as eager for a morning run as Prompto, and the pre-dawn chorus is often filled with the hyperactive warbling of the two running laps.

Gladio falls asleep astride Bella’s back just shy of the campsite. Maneuvering him into the tent without waking him might prove to be a problem, but ever resourceful, his chocobo simply nests herself down by the campfire and wiggles until Gladio is somewhat more comfortably slouched against her side. Ignis seems as though he wants to protest, but a satisfied look from Bella holds his tongue.

Arguing against chocobos is impossible.

“He’ll be all right, won’t he?” Prompto asks, fluttering around the campfire. Wolf skips along behind him, wagging her tail like a dog. This probably has less to do with his nervous energy and more to do with the fact he’s swinging around the bag of gysahl greens. Cheesecake, too, has perked up at the sight, and his head tracks Prompto’s jumpy circle around the fire with anticipation.

“Should he sleep through dinner, we’ll wake him in a few hours for another potion. For now, though, it’s best to let him rest,” Ignis says, busying himself with the cooker. He _clacks_ a gas canister into the side and flicks the ignition, and there is a _whoof_ of flame into the night. Soft, blue light cocoons the haven, but beyond it’s shimmering ward, the early hours of darkness have begun to creep in. But they will be safe here for the night, protected by a bubble of magic that seeps up out of the land.

“It’s just - kinda _weird_ seeing him conked out, you know?” Prompto says. He hovers near Gladio, torn between leaving him be and offering some form of comfort. Gladio, naturally, is unaware to his plight, and so it seems is Bella as she nips at the bag of greens in Prompto’s hands. “Wha - oh! Guess you guys are hungry too, huh? Don’t worry, there’s plenty!”

He whistles as he hands out the greens, passing the bag to Noctis. There’s a happy _kweh_ from Cheesecake, his great head now settled on Noctis’ knees. He has none of Wolf’s agility, Guinevere’s sharp eye, or Bella’s grey-feathered bulk; he may as well be a lap-dog considering he’s useless in a fight. Noctis doesn’t mind, happy to indulge him. Gladio had once remarked that, if nothing else, _Cheesecake_ is a befitting name.

Cheesecake coos and Noctis coos back.

“Please refrain from starting on the greens,” Ignis teases, to which Noctis rolls their eyes.

The lull before dinner is a familiar affair. Soft sounds fill the campsite: the ruffle of feathers, Gladio breathing, the radio tuning in and out of Ignis’ cooking. Prompto steals Cheesecake’s place in Noctis’ lap, swinging his legs over the arm of the camping chair. It can’t be comfortable, but living weeks on the road has familiarised them all with uncomfortable places, Noctis’ boney knees included. They play a few rounds of King’s Knight together with Prompto’s cheek squished into Noctis’ shoulder. Physical affection is not a new development in their relationship by any means, but it was one that took Noctis many months before welcoming. Now, Prompto utilises this privilege at every opportunity, more so than Ignis or Gladio who are more subtle about these things. Noctis, just like with Cheesecake, is happy to oblige.

Ignis sips a flask of coffee as the radio chatters on. Gladio rolls over in his sleep and Bella squawks in surprise. Noctis had presumed that she was asleep, but perhaps she has assumed Gladio’s watch while he rests.

“They’re just big dogs,” Noctis mumbles, scratching the top of Cheesecake’s head. Wolf and Guinevere are curled up on the other side of the campfire, sated and asleep. Ignis has to step around them every time he checks on the stove.

“It’s a shame we can’t fit them in the Regalia,” Prompto agrees, clicking through the day’s photos on his camera. He laughs and turns the screen towards Noctis every so often, sharing snapshots of the morning’s climb and the battle atop the Rock of Ravatogh. There are many candid photos of the party in combat, but Noctis’ favourite has to be Ignis’ gobsmacked expression as they drew their weapons on the Zu.

There isn’t much in the world that can stun Ignis. “Save that one,” Noctis says.

“Are you kidding? I’m gonna frame it!” Prompto replies, laughing just quietly enough to arose Ignis’ suspicion. He quirks an eyebrow at them, stern over the edge of his glasses, and Prompto blushes to the tips of his ears.

“I do hope you captured my better side,” Ignis calls.

“Every side’s your better side,” Prompto sighs, a little dreamily, a little sad. Somehow he manages to sound self-deprecating despite speaking only of Ignis, but as usual, he doesn’t seem to notice as he continues clicking through the camera. Prompto’s self-worth is a vulnerable thing, and Noctis shares a look with Ignis over the top of Prompto’s head.

“Prompto, would you come and help me serve dinner?” Ignis asks.

“Sure, sure! Happy to help.” He springs up where Noctis would whine and complain about moving, and only sink further down into the chair. He bestows Noctis the camera and then a peck on the cheek, and then another one as Noctis wrinkles their nose.

“You’re a sap,” they grumble, not really protesting the affection. Prompto _is_ a sap through and through, and so is Gladio, all bear-hugs, and Ignis in his way. Noctis doesn’t consider themself overly sentimental in any way, but their friends and partners would probably argue, and so would Cheesecake, wiggling himself into the space Prompto leaves.

 _Kweh_ , says Cheesecake, comfy and pleased.

“I know buddy,” says Prompto, giving him a pat. “I know.”

He skips off to join Ignis at the stove, dodging Wolf and Guinevere. Ignis certainly doesn’t _need_ any help in laying out the crockery, but necessity is beside the point. If he wanted efficiency and zero possibility of mishaps, then he would not ask Prompto to complete the task. But that’s not what he wants, and it’s not want Prompto wants, and it’s not even what Noctis wants, watching the two of them bicker good-naturedly, so at odds and yet so alike.

In a sense, not partaking in the banter is selfish of Noctis. Their needs are a little different to that of the others’, and admiring Prompto’s smile, the easy conversation, and the arm slung around Ignis’ waist from afar allows Noctis to reap all the benefits without the pressure to reciprocate. Happiness warms their chest when Ignis and Prompto are laughing - or Ignis and Gladio, Prompto and Gladio, all three of them, relaxed and dumb and in love.

Still, it doesn’t hurt to tease. The gel in Ignis’ hair has started to soften, causing his fringe to flop forward. Prompto’s a mess even before Ignis gets a hold of him, cupping his face and prompting whispers of laughter.

“Snog _after_ we’ve eaten,” Noctis groans. They have half a mind to take a photo - not for blackmail, for it would be ineffective as such, but merely to embarrass them both about their starry-eyes and red-kissed lips.

Prompto flips them two fingers.

Ignis flusters. “Don’t swear at Their Highness.”

“Fucking _shit_ ,” calls Gladio from across the campsite, Bella squawking in surprise. He sits up and runs a hand through his mane, dislodging her grey-speckled down. She trills and headbutts him, knocking him from his knees.

“Decided to join us?” Noctis drawls.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Ignis adds. “Do you require a potion?”

Gladio groans, more out of annoyance than pain. “ _Astrals_ , how long was I asleep?” He waves the offer away, scratching under Bella’s chin instead. He doesn’t have much choice in the matter, as now Bella rests her head across his chest, squawking happily just inches from his face. Her tail is a grey blur behind her, and this time, Noctis snaps a photo.

“A few hours,” Ignis replies. “Do you think you can manage dinner?”

“Yeah, yeah, just feeling a little stiff, s’all. Come on Bells, lemme up, I gotta eat. Bell, you great lump. Bell, _come on_.”

It’s a lost cause. Arguing against chocobos is impossible - and none more so than Belladonna, who lives up to both meanings of her name. Arguing against Ignis is impossible too, and even Gladio doesn’t try it as Ignis hands over a potion instead of a plate. Noctis snaps a photo of that too: Ignis checking his watch in the face of Gladio’s baleful expression, and Bella slouched smug over her rider. Prompto’s camera is a powerful and most terrible tool, and Noctis can see why he loves it so much.

“Thanks Iggy,” Gladio says, swapping the potion for the plate. He is unsurprisingly morose about the attention - _the babying_ , in his own words - which is hypocritical of a man who taught Noctis when to rest and when to charge through a fight. Noctis has long-since given up trying to talk sense into Gladio’s thick skull, but they are fortunate that Ignis has accepted the baton and seems to have greater luck. Gladio listens to Ignis when he will listen to nobody else. And in turn, Ignis confides in Gladio when he will confide in nobody else.

“I’m glad you’re well,” Ignis says, softer now, indulging himself just a little to twirl a hair from Gladio’s face. “I want to check on that wound along your collar before you retire for the night.”

Gladio smiles and turns a kiss into Ignis’ hand.

“Man, Iggy’s getting all the action tonight,” Prompto laughs.

“And _whose_ fault is that?” Noctis retorts, holding the camera steady as they swivel around in the camping chair. “Mr. _Let’s-Snog-By-The-Stove_.”

Prompto’s ears shouldn’t be able to get any redder, but Gladio’s _oi!_ does the job. “You guys had fun without me?” he accuses, feigning offence with a crooked smile.

“It wasn’t planned!” Prompto splutters, dancing on the spot. “Ignis got handsy!”

“Oh? So _I_ am to take the blame?”

“No! You’re just -” Prompto gestures towards across the haven, his look of frustration rendered useless by the fire lighting his cheeks. _Cute_ , is the word that comes to mind, for Prompto and Ignis both. “ - so damn good-looking, Iggy, it’s not fair.”

“And surely you speak for yourself as well?” Ignis replies, although they all know he doesn’t. Prompto is just as stubborn about accepting compliments as Gladio is giving them, but Ignis has no such reservations. He wields endearment in words, willing to inflict the most tender of wounds.

“Hey, what am I?” Gladio interrupts, much to Prompto’s relief. “Chopped liver?”

“You almost were,” Noctis deadpans.

“Totally barbequed,” Prompto agrees. “Like that steak Noct tried to cook one time and -”

“That was _one time_! And you ate it!”

“Er, actually,” Prompto begins, his wide-eyed look speaking volumes. “Ignis ate it ‘cause he’s too polite. I fed mine to Umbra.”

“Yeah, so did I,” Gladio admits, with the look of a man with nothing to lose. He doesn’t look particularly guilty as he adds, “We thought we’d killed him for a good moment too.”

“Umbra’s not gonna get killed by a _steak_ ,” Noctis assures, vowing to follow through on their threat to kick ass. A few rounds of sparring should do it: nobody harms their dog, even if said dog is a Messenger for the Gods.

“You sure? ‘Cause it was pretty close,” Gladio adds, unconvinced. “Maybe if you made another one -”

Ignis’ vehement _no!_ has them all snapping around in surprise. He coughs to expel further possibility of outbursts, and then fiddles with the frame of his glasses. “Once - once was most certainly enough.”

A long, drawn-out moment of silence passes. Mortified, Ignis refuses to look Noctis in the eye, instead returning to serve up the remainder of the meal. Gladio doesn’t have this problem, smug and madly entertained. Noctis sinks further into the chair, wondering if they could fling _themself_ into the arsenal after all.

Prompto shrugs a _what-can-you-do_. “If Ignis says it’s bad…” he sing-sings, and Gladio laughs and laughs and laughs.

Noctis huffs. Their friends and partners are arseholes, but they love them all dearly. “By the Six, I hate you guys.”

And of course all three of them grin.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
